My Divinely Decadent Duke Page 15

  Why couldn’t she understand what he also wanted was a grand passion with someone he loved so madly he would do anything to win her? She spoiled it for him because she became the hunter and he the hunted, not the other way round. Then he remembered he never told her of his dreams either. Would a time present itself to do so?

  He stood, removed his jacket, and placed it over her desk chair. The steady sound of her breaths ebbed and flowed. She reminded him of a Madonna in sound sleep. If he kissed her on the forehead, would she wake? Or should he kiss her lips? He clasped her long-fingered delicate hand, went to her side and did so, but she did not awaken. Although she did sigh, and he questioned if he was in her dreams—or her nightmares. He moved to the bed and lay alongside her still fully clothed.

  A change came over him. He didn’t want to leave. Instead, he wanted to wake with Cassandra by his side and kiss her awake. Her body was perfect in every way.

  Soft sighs punctured the air as she placed her head on his chest and curled into him. He heard her whisper words and smiled. He didn’t understand them all, but it was enough for him to know their definition. Her body fitted him well so that her head, with a slight tilt upward aligned their lips in perfect symmetry—more torture.

  She moved again this time, on her back, flailed her arms, and wailed unintelligibly. He assumed she experienced a bad dream because her face contorted in pain. “Shush.” He held her tight. “I am here. It will be all right.”

  “Promise?” she moaned.

  “Word of honor,” he whispered as his lips skimmed hers.

  She lay back on the pillow and calmed. He ran the back of his knuckled hand down her cheek to the soft cleft at her throat. She giggled, still fast asleep.

  Althorn dozed until the hall clock chimed four times and awoke him. He withdrew from her bed with a new sensation overwhelming him. He drew the comforter to her neck and tucked her in once again.

  “You have bewitched me. What am I to do?” he whispered in her ear. He left her room and strode quickly to his own chambers.

  Damn. It took absolute control to leave her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cassandra awoke to warm sunshine and a headache. Her last remembrance was of her and the duke in his study and their sharing a drink—a potent one. She knew her foul mood was brought about by overzealousness to conduct her duties, but it fatigued her. She was angry with him, but she couldn’t remember why. After that, her life blacked out.

  She would need to obtain a clock so she could tell time. She threw back the warm cover and shivered. Cassandra was clothed in her chemise, the sexy one. Her hand flew to her mouth. She scanned the room; everything was in place: books, notes, pads, lists, more lists, toys, etc. She spied the duke’s jacket on her chair.

  “Sweet heaven, what happened?” she moaned. She shook her head in an attempt at recall. Cassandra rushed to the armoire to get her morning gown and plucked under garments from the wardrobe dresser.

  Minutes later, Anna knocked on the door and entered. “Good morning, your Grace. You wish to get dressed?”

  “My mind is foggy. Do you have a potion for headaches? I seem to have acquired one.”

  “Yes. The duke advised me you were upset by something you drank. He provided me with a special recipe and assures you it will help your head.” Anna handed her lady the ugly colored concoction.

  “Am I to drink this all at once?” Cassandra held the glass suspiciously.

  “Yes, your Grace.”

  “Do I take it you put me to bed last night, Anna?” Cassandra sipped the vile brew. She scrunched her nose, and drank it all.

  “The duke helped you to bed. After a while, he called me to assist you into your night clothes.”

  After a while, what did that mean? Cassandra’s head dropped and she closed her gaze, this time in shame. Heartless rake.

  Frantic fear pooled within her. How could she face him? This was a problem of major proportions. She didn’t feel any different. Anna went to the armoire. “Is there a special day dress you wish to wear?”

  A coat of armor might do.

  She answered with a shake of her head at the events she tried to retrace in her stupor. “The yellow muslin will suffice.”

  After she dressed, Anna handed her a note from the duke. Her hand shook uncontrollably. It had to be true. I’m no longer a virgin?

  She opened the note.

  Cassandra:

  Kindly breakfast with me this morning at seven thirty. I hope your headache is better. We have much to discuss.

  Althorn.

  She couldn’t be in the same room alone with him. Not now. Not later. Not ever.

  “Please inform his Grace I will be with his mother for breakfast. If he wishes, he is invited to join us. That will be all, Anna.”

  Anna curtsied and left.

  Cassandra paced back and forth, looked at the sinful bed. Her downfall…a simple four-poster antique bed and three gulps of French cognac…or was it four?

  Worst of all, she couldn’t remember anything. It was a cruel, cruel world to be deflowered without a memory of the act. She tried to reorganize her mind since it was too early to look in on the children as they slept until eight. Also, too early to visit the dowager. Cassandra had forty-five minutes to muddle about.

  Down to the kitchens she went. Her motto was when all was lost: go to the kitchens and help. She remembered the countless times she sought refuge in the kitchens of the Winston School for Ladies. The duke’s cook was surprised to see her up at such an hour.

  “Cook Hannah, I have come to see how the puppies fare.” In the corner, Clayo fed her hungry babies. “Is there a brush I can use on her? She looks tired. Does she get enough sustenance to nurse her brood?” she asked with deep concern.

  “Yes, your Grace. I give her fresh cream and meat tidbits from the table scraps.”

  “You are a good woman, Cook Hannah. The duke will appreciate your care of his favorite hound.”

  “Thank you, milady.” She handed Cassandra a brush.

  Cassandra went to her knees near Clayo and caressed the animal’s head then brushed her hair. Clayo seemed to like the touch. Cassandra continued for quite some time while the puppies suckled.

  “Milady, would you like some tea?” asked the cook.

  About to answer, sandalwood and spice scented the air. Cassandra tilted her head and saw the duke watching as she stroked the dog, her skirts hiked up to her calves.

  If ever I were to fall in love, it would be someone with your qualities. He’d said that to her when he told her rakes didn’t fall in love.

  “Let me help you up.” He extended his hand.

  She accepted it with ten thousand questions in her head, but asked none, and handed him the brush. He took it and placed it in its usual spot since he used it to brush Clayo every morning.

  “Cook Hannah,” he said. “We would both like tea and perhaps a slice of fresh bread with your wonderful preserves. We’ll take it on the back terrace.”

  “Yes, your Grace.”

  “How do you feel, my lady? We had quite a night last night,” said the duke

  Her cheeks crimsoned. “We did?”

  “I am sure you remember, do you not?” he asked, amused beyond delight at her discomfort. “All the words you spoke to me were memorable,” he teased. He brought her to the terrace and pulled out a chair for her. “Yes, you were wonderful.”

  “I was?” She frowned.

  “I believe you informed me I had a wonderful ass.”

  Her hand went to her head. “I did?” She seemed almost ready to cry. “How can I not remember?”

  Tea was served and she sipped the minted brew. Her stomach settled. He offered bread and preserves, and when she didn’t accept, he placed it on her plate.

  He lavishly buttered his toast with a sterling knife. “Tell me, Cassandra. How do you propose to assist my mother’s rehabilitation? Is there a process that you follow?”

  “When I was younger,” she said, “I had a student
who suffered a bad fall and it resulted in brain trauma. This type of head injury isn’t as severe as a stroke, and after the inflammation was reduced, I was able to help with her mobility and speech issues.

  “How so?” he asked with extreme interest.

  “It can take a month or longer for the blood to dissipate. We start with repetitive exercises. Day-in and day-out. In between, we played games and some of the exercises seemed like child’s play and helped the young girl to speak. At the moment, your mother does finger- and hand-manipulation, and then we will graduate to more speech repetition. It is my sincerest hope she will improve.”

  “How are you aware of these therapies when doctors know so little?” He leaned back into the tufted chair and saw the flecked gaze brighten a moment in awareness.

  “I believe it depends on the physician’s field of knowledge. I kept a journal I could refer to if needed. I brought it with me.” She placed the teacup in the saucer.

  “May I see it one day?” he asked.

  “Yes. I shall try to remember,” she whispered. “Although at times my memory fails me. This is something new.”

  “Will I have to remind you?” His smile was broad and curled at the sides of his mouth.

  “No, your Grace. It will be done. Please tell me the time. Your mother expects me to breakfast with her. Perhaps you would care to join us?” She arose from her seat.

  “It’s not quite seven. Cassandra, please accept my thanks for all you attempt to do. It rewards me to know I made the right decision when it came to you.” His smile meant to charm. “I wonder what other qualities you have, but have not yet displayed.” Her discomfort piqued his curiosity.

  She curtsied to him.

  “The seamstress and milliner will visit this afternoon. Would you mind if I helped you select fabrics?”

  “I should have guessed you would be an arbiter of women’s fashion also. It adds to your list of accomplishments. Do as you please, you will anyway.”

  He wondered how long it would take her to ask him if he ravished her. The game they played more than humored him. It sought to entice. He would tell her the truth very soon. He had not violated her—he could never do that to such a woman and still look at himself in the mirror.

  The duke returned to his ledger books and worked for some hours until laughter and giggles flew in off the warm ocean breeze. He went to the window, his hand on the mullion. His mother was seated in a chair with a parasol over her. Alicia and Alfie pulled a wagon cart of puppies in a basket and Cassandra followed behind in her favorite straw bonnet dragging the telescope. Why did she not ask the servants to assist in carrying heavy items? His smile lessened when he saw Clayo bounding alongside the wagon.

  She had won his mother’s heart. Now she’d won his dog’s affection. Traitorous dog. What else would she win over. Perhaps my heart?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  London 1822

  Gordon Althorn was joined by his friend, Tomas Martinez, at Brooke’s Club where they were both members. Tomas clapped Gordon’s back in friendship. “How does the married man fare?” A sly grin crossed his face.

  “I would affirm marriage is a new state of mind and requires attention. I make an attempt to adapt to it.”

  “You could’ve knocked me over when you asked me to be your best man.” Tomas sat and ordered a drink.

  “It was rather spontaneous, I’ll agree.” Gordon tapped his hand on the mahogany tabletop.

  The club was filled by a number of gentlemen. Some gamed at hazard and faro, and others used the wager books. Smoke filled the air and rose like small puffy clouds to the paneled oak ceiling beams.

  “Fix your cravat, Tomas, or they’ll request you to leave. They are sticklers for proper dress decorum.” He flexed his boot and gently nudged his friend.

  Tomas adjusted the knot. “I hate these rules and regulations. Is it better now?”

  “Yes. It’s what we pay them to enforce. Is there any news?” Gordon asked, and then he scanned the room.

  “Barbados does well with our sugar factories. There’s still talk of rebellion and slave emancipation, but there is not enough support in the government. I’m inclined to believe it will happen though. We’ll need to pay special attention to elections there. I wish we had more natives we could trust there.”

  “I agree, Tomas. I’d like you to make frequent visits and report back to me.”

  “Consider it done, my friend, although the ocean trips are harder each time. Perhaps it’s time for me to settle down, too.” He laughed. “You could be contagious. Does your wife like your tattoo? Has she asked you about it?” He took a heavy swig of whiskey and placed the glass off to the side.

  “She hasn’t seen it yet.”

  “Do you have bed sport in the dark?” Tomas asked, his brow furrowed.

  “No.” He turned his head. “It’s a rather long story. Since I owe you my life, I will share our arrangement with you.”

  After the tale of his marriage of convenience was told, Tomas slapped his thigh. “And this contents you?”

  “No, it doesn’t. It’s inconvenient to have a beautiful woman such as my wife and the inability to touch her. However, I gave my word and little will happen unless she agrees.”

  “So the famous rake has met his match.” He smirked.

  “Let me put it another way. I can relate to how Adam felt in the Garden of Eden. Cassandra is not only a temptation, but she has a compassionate nature. My mother adores her. The house is alive with laughter, kindness, puppies, and active children everywhere. Although, I should be grateful my dog still spends time with me in my sacrosanct study.”

  “You sound domesticated, old chap.” His voice was thick with joviality.

  “Perish the thought. It’s a temporary arrangement until my mother recovers.” Liar. Liar. Liar.

  Uneasy and restless, just the mention of her caused his loins to clench and his member to firm.

  “How long are you in town?” Tomas crossed his legs and engaged Gordon in further conversation.

  “Only for the day. I came to see my tailor. Cassandra asked me to bring back gifts for the children.”

  “Yet you claim you’re not domesticated? Hah. I don’t believe you.” Again he smacked his own thigh. “What do you do for your needs? A luscious low hanging apple and you cannot take a bite?”

  “My hand works well. Now change the subject, or my fist will pummel your face. I’d like to remind you I’m better at fisticuffs than you. Barbados taught us that.”

  “Not when I play dirty and can’t win by my hands.”

  They both grinned.

  “Those were the good old days,” Tomas lamented.

  “Tell me, when you last visited the islands, did you see Tatenda, the dark native beauty?”

  “No. It was as if she disappeared from the face of the earth. No one could, or would, speak about her. She was in love with you and when you took sick, it was she who brought the witch doctor to remove the evil spirits to quell your fever. She interpreted his requests for information about your ancestry. She had her sights set on you from the moment you landed. Personally, I like your tattoo. It tells your story. The Arawak were such a strange tribe with their culture and traditions.”

  “Yes. I don’t remember much about our departure from the island. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead now.”

  “Gordon, we were always there for each other. If not for you, I’d be bullied by our school chums at Cambridge. So I’d say we’re even, amigo.”

  “By God, you haven’t called me that in a long time.”

  He took out his pocket watch. “I’ll have to go. Come to visit me in Brighton, Tomas. My mother would be happy to see you. She credits you for my life.”

  “Send her my love. One of these days, I’ll come—uninvited, of course. Perhaps at your child’s baptism?” he joked.

  “You have such faith in my talents, my friend.”

  They both stood and walked out the famed doors to St. James Street and left i
n different directions. The duke headed for Bond Street to shop. He was determined to be home by late afternoon.

  ****

  Back at Brighton, a servant advised Cassandra the seamstress and milliner were there for an appointment. She instructed him to show them to the drawing room. The duke had arrived and he ushered her into his study.

  “I’m glad to have you alone for a moment. You’re always occupied.” He sat in his chair. She seated herself opposite him. “Would you join me for a cordial tonight here?”

  She became aware of his mischievous glint. “I find I don’t care for strong spirits, your Grace. It does rob me of my clothes.” She waited for a reaction.

  From his guffaw, she gathered he knew exactly her inference. “I wondered when you would bring up the subject. I have asked for a light cordial and ratafia to be placed in the decanters. You may have your choice of mild drink. Please join me. We should talk.”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Since it’s just the two of us, perhaps we could have a light supper? I would like that.” His tone was bemused.

  “Would you?” she asked, her gaze locked to his. No man should have such a risqué smile.

  “I will arrange an early light supper at seven?”

  The duke nodded.

  They soon left the study and joined the seamstress and the milliner whose staff held many bolts of fabric. Her gaze went to him. Did he intend to buy her a dozen gowns?

  The merchants curtsied to them both.

  “The King’s Ball is this Saturday and since we are newly married, there hasn’t been time for the Duchess to travel to London to her regular modiste. I suggested she could be impressed with the quality of your people.” He took her hand in an intimate gesture. “She designs fashions for Madame Lisande, the French modiste in London. I have prevailed upon her to have you view them. Is this something you might wish to endeavor?” His voice was fluid and commanding. Cassandra found his demeanor an example of regal deportment.